


And Be One Traveler

by alkjira



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Post-Battle of Five Armies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-10
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2017-12-26 05:51:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/962364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alkjira/pseuds/alkjira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Thorin swept into the tent, hair an absolute mess and there were more dark circles beneath his eyes than Bilbo had ever seen before, but the Dwarf was gloriously alive, and all Bilbo could do for the first few moments was to gape stupidly at him.</p><p>He <em>remembered</em> seeing Thorin lie pale and lifeless on the ground. Fíli and Kíli slumped over just a few feet away from their uncle. There had been blood, so much blood.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,_  
>  _And sorry I could not travel both_  
>  _And be one traveler, long I stood_  
>  _And looked down one as far as I could_  
>  _To where it bent in the undergrowth;_  
>  \- The Road Not Taken, by Robert Frost

_Please wake up. I need you to come back to me. Please. It can't end like this._

-  
  
Slowly, feeling like his eyelids had been glued to his cheeks, Bilbo opened his eyes. 

He was met by more darkness, and for a second he feared that he was blind. Then came the realisation that there was something lying over the upper part of his face, something soft and cool, and with immense effort Bilbo reached up a hand to pull it away. 

Light burst into his vision and the Hobbit hissed and cringed, immediately shutting his eyes again to block out the pain.

"Bilbo? You're awake? He's awake! Ori, help me put out the candles. No, not all of them. And get Thorin!"

"Thorin?" Bilbo murmured. He could not have heard correctly. Thorin was dead, killed by Azog in the battle, along with Fíli and Kíli. Bilbo had seen-

"Don’t worry, he'll be here before you can blink. Figures that you'd wake up when he's not actually here. I'd say you'd done it on purpose just to drive him bonkers, except I think Óin would have told us if you were well enough to play pranks."

"Bofur?" Bilbo asked, chancing to pull the damp cloth away from his eyes once again. This time it still hurt, but it didn't quite feel like someone tried to drive sharp spikes into his head. 

"Aye," Bofur said warmly and as Bilbo blinked to clear his vision Bofur's blurry face swam into view. The Dwarf looked exhausted, but his smile was brilliant in the low light inside the, the _tent_? 

Above Bilbo there certainly seemed to be the sloping heavy fabric of a tent of sorts, and the large pole coming up from the floor just a few feet from Bilbo also seemed to indicate that he was indeed inside a tent. _Why_ was he in a tent?

"I don't remember," the Hobbit began. "The battle? Thorin-“ Bilbo’s voice broke. “What _happened_?"

"We won," Bofur grinned. "And now that you are awake maybe Thorin can finally smile about it. It'll make the lads' lives a little easier at least. They’ve been worried too, of course, we’ve all been, but Thorin…" Bofur shook his head. “I’d ask you to go gentle on him, but I guess that’d not be fair to you.”

"Fair to me?" Bilbo repeated slowly. He remembered Thorin falling, Azog's blade deep into the King’s side. Fíli and Kíli...  
  
Bofur’s words slowly sank into Bilbo’s mind.

"The boys, Fíli and Kíli, they are _fine_?"

"Except for having a brooding uncle, they're perfectly all right," Bofur said, grin still on his face. "Fíli's going to have a small scar in his jaw and Kíli sulked a bit that _he_ got through his first battle without getting any scars at all to show for it. Youth..." the Dwarf added and shook his head, continuing to ramble on about how scars weren’t exactly something to strive for.

This wasn't right. Bilbo rubbed at his aching head. He remembered...

"Does your head pain you?" Bofur asked, concern wiping the smile from his face. "Be careful, you've got a big-"

Bilbo cursed when his hand found a bump almost as big as a chicken egg.

"Yeah, that's the one," Bofur said, wincing in sympathy. "Something gave you a great big knock on the old noggin. Óin's been here frowning over you as much as Thorin's been. He probably can give you something if it really hurts. He'll be glad you're all right. He’s been muttering an awful lot about what such a big bump can-"

"Bilbo!"

Thorin swept into the tent, hair an absolute mess and there were more dark circles beneath his eyes than Bilbo had ever seen before, but the Dwarf was gloriously alive, and all Bilbo could do for the first few moments was to gape stupidly at him.  
  
He _remembered_  seeing Thorin lie pale and lifeless on the ground. Fíli and Kíli slumped over just a few feet away from their uncle. There had been blood, so much blood.

But now Thorin here, clearly not having a blade stuck all the way through his side. He didn't even move stiffly. And Bofur said the boys were fine as well.  
  
Whatever it was that knocked him over the head must have knocked more than a few things loose, Bilbo supposed as Thorin stormed closer. That _had_ to be it, because Thorin was clearly not dead.

"Bilbo," Thorin breathed as he dropped to his knees by the pile of furs that the Hobbit lay on and, helped by Bofur, Bilbo struggled to sit up and face him.  
  
Thorin’s hands twitched as if wanting to grab something and Bilbo couldn't help but flinch slightly, remembering the last time he'd been this close to Thorin and how it had ended with almost being thrown off the barricades. 

What little colour Thorin's face had held disappeared, he bowed his head and for a few long moments none of them spoke. In the background Bofur watched them with an anxious expression on his face.

“There are so many things I told myself I would let you know when you woke,” Thorin murmured. “But now they have all fled my mind. Perhaps…” The Dwarf looked away. “It would be remiss of me if I did not let you know that you are of course released from our courtship. I-“  
  
“You are still angry with me then,” Bilbo said in a small voice. He’d thought that Thorin had looked relieved upon seeing him, but that of course didn’t mean that he couldn’t still be furious considering the entire ordeal with the Arkenstone. Maybe he was just happy to have another chance to yell at-

“What? No,” Thorin said, his eyes wide and shocked. “How can you think- Bilbo, I'm so very sorry for what I said and did. I was not myself.” He laughed, and it was a dry and sad sound. “Oh, but even so, the things I did... I do not expect that you'll forgive me. But I am truly sorry nonetheless. And as I can’t imagine that you really want to look upon my face, I’ll-“

“Thorin.” Bilbo reached out a trembling hand to touch his fingers to the side of Thorin’s face when the Dwarf made to rise to his feet. He couldn't _leave_.  
  
 _Thorin’s face, pale as chalk except for the bruises, and the blood._  
  
“Thorin, I forgive you.”

It was strange to see Thorin look so completely shocked. His mouth literally hung open in a very undignified manner, and Bilbo found himself smiling slightly. Because what else could you do when the death of the one you loved turned out to be your own mind playing cruel tricks, and there might actually be a chance that he still returned your feelings. Even after you betrayed him, betrayed his trust.

“I forgive you,” Bilbo repeated, just to make it clear. “I forgave you even as I climbed down Erebor’s walls.” Then the Hobbit grew serious. “Can you forgive _me_ for taking the Arkenstone? That was all my own idea. I was not acting under the influence of-”  
  
“There is nothing to forgive.” Thorin let out a shaky breath. “You, you…” Words seemed to fail him and instead he brought his head forward and lightly, so very, very lightly, touched it against Bilbo’s.  
  
“As for that courtship business-” Bilbo said with forced cheer, hoping that he wasn’t making a fool out of himself. “I’m afraid you’ll only be rid of me if you tell me to go.”  
  
Bofur coughed awkwardly.  
  
“When you are sound of mind, that is,” Bilbo hastily added, cursing himself for already bringing up such terrible memories again. Then he scolded himself some more, because what he’d just said didn’t really make things any better, and now Thorin wouldn’t even look at him, and he'd gone much too pale again.  
  
“Oh, damn it,” Bilbo huffed. Unsteady hands came up to cup Thorin’s cheeks as Bilbo arched up to claim a kiss. If Thorin didn’t want to continue the courtship then at least Bilbo would have this.  
  
For a second, Thorin was stiff and unmoving against him-  
  
 _The King’s chest did not move, as he no longer drew breath. And a puddle of blood had already begun to spread beneath him._  
  
-then the Dwarf all but melted, and Bilbo gave a shuddering sigh when the kiss was returned, screwing his eyes shut as if that could ward off the horrible images that wanted to enter his mind. They claimed themselves as memories, but how could they be?  
  
Bilbo could feel Thorin’s warm breaths, feel the strong beat of his heart beneath the hand he held against the side of Thorin’s face and neck.  
  
There was a lad back in the Shire, a Chubb if Bilbo remembered correctly, who’d hit his head when he’d fallen out of a tree. For a week he’d thought himself to be an Elf, so perhaps this was something like that.  
  
As he gathered Bilbo into his arms Thorin accidentally brushed against the bump on the side of Bilbo's head and the Hobbit muffled a groan into the fur collar on Thorin's coat. Yes, it certainly did hurt enough for that kind of thing.

“I thought I'd lost you,” Thorin murmured into Bilbo’s hair. “In more than one way, but all by my own doing.”

“I thought I’d lost you too.” Bilbo turned his face into the Dwarf’s neck and breathed in the familiar smell of leather, metal and Thorin. First to the gold fever, and then… He blinked back the tears which were demanding to be allowed to fall. “I love you.”  
  
He’d never actually said it before. It seemed strange now, because loving Thorin seemed as natural as  breathing. But somehow he had never actually managed to say those words before.. “I love you,” Bilbo repeated, because he needed to.  
  
“Oh, my beautiful, brave Halfling,” Thorin murmured, pulling back to gently brush his thumbs against the tear drops wetting Bilbo’s cheeks. “My Bilbo, I love you so.”

-  
  
After being poked and prodded by Óin, and then almost squeezed flat by many, very enthusiastic Dwarven hugs from the rest of the Company, and then being poked and prodded by Óin again just in case someone had actually managed to crack a rib, Bilbo was allowed to try and stand up. When he didn’t immediately fall down, he was deemed well enough to leave the tent on shaky legs.  
  
Outside things were a lot more busy than Bilbo could have imagined. Everywhere there were Dwarfs, Men, even Elves, running around doing goodness knew what.  
  
Thorin walked beside him, arm protectively around Bilbo’s shoulders, and in front of them Fíli and Kíli meandered along, occasionally throwing knowing grins and glances back at their uncle and his Hobbit. There was quite a bit of relief mixed in there as well, and Bilbo rather thought that it was echoed in his own face.  
  
Bofur had not been mistaken, the boys were completely fine. Except for a neatly bandaged wound on Fíli’s jaw, and Kíli having a slight limp, they were just fine.  
  
 _Together in death, just as in life, Fíli and Kíli lay on the ground, side by side. Fíli’s light hair was matted down with blood, and several arrows were lodged deep in Kíli’s chest._  
  
When they first came scuttling into the tent Bilbo’s knees could not have carried him, so it was quite fortunate that he’d still been sitting on the bed. He still felt rather overwhelmed, and to have Thorin’s side pressed to his was a great comfort. Bofur was also with them, walking just to Bilbo’s right.

“Where is Gandalf?” Bilbo asked when he remembered that he’d not yet seen his friend.  
  
 _‘Bilbo,’ Gandalf murmured softly, voice infinitely sad. ‘They’re gone.’He's gone.  
_

The Hobbit shook his head to clear it, and almost missed hearing Thorin’s reply.  
  
“-left already.”  
  
“Oh,” Bilbo face fell. “But he didn’t- couldn’t he wait for me to wake up?” A thought occurred to him. “How long was I unconscious anyway?”  
  
“Much too long,” Thorin muttered.  
  
“Two weeks,” Bofur answered, and Bilbo’s eyes went wide with shock. His hand automatically came up to touch the bump on his head, because two weeks and still the size that it was? But Thorin captured the hand with a frown.  
  
“Well, that explains why my head is feeling a bit… shaken up then I guess,” Bilbo said slowly, patting Thorin’s hand when the Dwarf’s frown deepened. Óin had said he was fine after all. Whatever this was, it would surely pass. “And why I feel like I could clear out the contents of an entire pantry.”  
  
“We helped give you water with honey, and broth,” Kíli chirped. "Beorn gave us the honey."  
  
“And Gandalf left some drops for you,” Fíli continued. “To help you get better. Óin didn’t really like them as he’d not made them himself, but he still went along with it.”

“Thank you,” Bilbo smiled at them. “Still, I would have wanted to thank Gandalf as well. For everything.” For you, Bilbo added silently at Thorin.  
  
“You know Wizards,” Bofur grinned. “They're like cats. You never know when, but they'll always be back.”  
  
“And they come bearing dead mice?” Kíli called over his shoulder, and he and Fíli snickered together.  
  
 _Thorin’s arm stretched towards his sister-sons, palm facing upwards as if waiting for someone to take it into their own._  
  
“I’ll admit that it’s not a perfect likeness,” Bofur said with a haughty sniff. “But if you want to put out a saucer of milk, that can be arranged.”  
  
Bilbo laughed with the others, and he did not miss how every Dwarf they passed looked in something close to wonder at the smile that lingered on Thorin’s face.  
  
-  
  
It was unexpectedly easy to settle into a life in Erebor. The two weeks he had missed had meant that he’d missed out on a lot of grunt work, and Thorin, Óin and the rest of the company still wouldn’t allow him to help with certain things... like for example cleaning up over a century of Dragon _excrement_ , considerately left in the halls adjacent to Erebor’s treasure chambers. How _terrible_ Bilbo felt for not getting to take part in that.

There was still a lot to do, like making lists and talking to Bard about supplies that would be needed and talking to the Elves about seeds and plants that could be planted even though winter was rapidly approaching, so the Hobbit’s days were busy. And so were his nights.  
  
-  
  
Bilbo gasped into Thorin’s mouth, hands scrambling to find purchase on a sweat-slicked back as Thorin eased himself in and out so torturously slow, only chuckling at Bilbo’s muttered threats and pleas for _more_ and _faster_.  
  
-  
  
Bilbo preferred the nights.  
  
But there was much joy to be found in seeing Erebor slowly be restored to what it once was. And little by little his own mind cleared as well. The strange images came with less and less frequency and after a month they only ever happened when he was dreaming. Thorin never pressed him regarding those times when Bilbo woke gasping for breath, tears streaming down his face, but Thorin also had his share of bad dreams that he did not want to talk about. It was enough to be there for one another, safe in the knowledge that they would not wake up alone.

-  
  
The night after Dáin returned to the Iron Hills Bilbo had a dream that he recognized upon waking as one of the false-memory ones, they all had a certain feel to them that he’d come to know all too well, though he’d never had this particular one before.  
  
 _Dáin in Erebor’s throne room, on Thorin’s throne, with Thorin’s crown on his head. He looked… sad, tired. Grief had deepened the furrows and lines on his face, leaving little to remind Bilbo of the loud, boisterous Dwarf he’d come to know._  
  
 _‘We will honour the agreement of the dead, and he has now the Arkenstone in his keeping.’_

Immediately upon waking, the dream wanted to slip away from the Hobbit, and Bilbo was left mostly with the memory of Dáin’s sad eyes, which were a pale blue, just like his cousin’s.  
  
-  
   
 _Why won't he wake up?_  
  
Bilbo stirred and turned onto his side as Thorin tried to slip into bed unnoticed.  
  
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Thorin whispered, his breath hot against Bilbo’s neck. “The meeting would simply not end. Go back to sleep.”  
  
“What if I don’t want to,” Bilbo murmured, rolling until he was pressed up against Thorin’s side. He drowsily pressed a kiss to the coarse hair on Thorin's jaw.  
  
“You are half-asleep already,” Thorin said,  brushing curls away from Bilbo’s forehead. “There will be other nights.”

-  
  
The anniversary of the victory of the Battle of Five Armies, as it had come to be known, was celebrated with suitable mix between the endless ceremonies and rumbustious drinking and singing that Bilbo had long ago accepted as an essential part of the Dwarven culture.  
  
The death of Smaug was comparatively overlooked, something that had confused Bilbo until Glóin had pointed out that it was not a Dwarf that had killed the Dragon, nor had the death of the beast actually been the point where the mountain was well and truly reclaimed. No, that had only come after Thorin’s gold fever had passed and the Goblin and Orc armies had been defeated.  
  
Bard had actually been invited to the mountain, but had wisely claimed prior engagements and instead sent a trio of his advisors in his stead. The three of them were now snoring in one of the main halls, having become a little too well acquainted with Dwarven ale. In the morning they would probably become likewise acquainted with Dwarven buckets.  
  
Bilbo, who couldn’t really bow out from participating, had instead made sure to keep lots of water on hand to keep his head from falling off in the morning. The plan was a success, and when he woke the following day it was only with good memories from the night before, and a clear head.  
  
Thorin muttered something when Bilbo slipped away from beneath his outstretched, heavy arm, but did not wake. As King he had needed to drink an awful lot of toasts, and Bilbo would not envy Thorin the state of his head today. More than one had raised toasts to the King’s consort as well, but unlike Thorin, Bilbo’s honour did not take offence at merely raising the goblet to his lips and taking a tiny sip.  
  
The Hobbit found himself grinning rather besottedly down at the ring on his left hand that marked him as Thorin’s husband. It had been over half a year, but sometimes it was still almost more than he could understand; how he’d gotten to have this. A simple Hobbit, married to the King under the Mountain, Bilbo Baggins; husband to Thorin Oakenshield.  
  
“Almost seems too good to be true, doesn’t it?” a voice said from behind Bilbo, and the Hobbit squeaked and reflexively grabbed at the sheets to cover himself.  
  
“Bofur,” Bilbo scolded. “Why are you in our quarters?” A thought occurred to him. “Is everything all right?”  
  
“You tell me,” Bofur grinned.  
  
“Well, apart from being frightened half to death, and you apparently having forgotten all common decency I’ve been trying to drill into your heads since the quest-“ here Bilbo pointedly flapped a corner of sheet. “I’d say everything is just fine.”  
  
“I’m glad to hear it,” Bofur said with a nod. “Wouldn't it be nice if things where always like this?”  
  
“Me half-naked and Thorin about to wake-up any minute now with a head pretending to be a wasp nest?” Bilbo chuckled. “I guess I can’t complain, but I’d say there’s room for _some_ improvement.” He was expecting Thorin to begin to stir from the noise, but his husband seemed particularly inclined to remain asleep that morning, and Bilbo snickered slightly as he rather thought it a good strategy, if one that would only postpone the inevitable.  
  
“If there is something you want, that could be arranged,” Bofur offered, and Bilbo turned back to his friend, raising an eyebrow.

“And how do you plan going about that? Has Óin finally discovered something to counter the effect of drinking altogether too many cups of ale?”

“I can give you anything you want,” Bofur stated simply, and Bilbo would have laughed, taken it for a jest, if it wasn’t for Bofur’s eyes. Instead of their usual mossy green, they were the colour of molten gold. Luminous even in the poor light inside the bedchamber.

“Bofur?” Bilbo asked warily while discretely trying to nudge Thorin awake. As soon as Bilbo’s hand touched his husband’s shoulder, he knew something was very wrong. Thorin’s skin was cold beneath Bilbo’s palm, and it was with horror that the Hobbit saw the sheets beneath them begin to turn red with blood.

“You were right before you know,” not-Bofur said casually. “Thorin died at the battle. And so did his nephews. No need for that,” it added when Bilbo frantically pushed at Thorin’s shoulder to turn him onto his back. The red stain had spread further and Bilbo wasn’t sure that Thorin was breathing. One snap of not-Bofur’s fingers and suddenly the blood was gone, and though Thorin still wouldn’t wake up his chest again rose and fell in the steady rhythm that was as familiar to Bilbo as his own heartbeat.

“Who _are_ you?” the Hobbit demanded, not bothering to keep the sheet around himself any longer in favour of placing himself between Thorin and the intruder. It hadn’t even sounded like Bofur when it had spoken just now. And Bofur definitely knew nothing at all of magic.

“Don't you recognise your old friend?” Not-Bofur shook his head and sighed, but his golden eyes twinkled merrily at Bilbo. “And after all we've been through together.”

“You are _not_ Bofur,” Bilbo said as firmly as he could with a mind crawling like an upset anthill around the words ‘Thorin died’.  
  
“No, I am not Bofur,” the creature admitted. “But you know me even so.” Bilbo drew back slightly as it stretched out one of its arms, but it held no weapon. Instead, in its open  palm lay Bilbo’s golden ring, the one he’d found beneath the caves of the Misty Mountains.

Bilbo's hand reflexively went to where his pocket would have been if he’d been wearing clothes. He hadn’t even thought about the ring in so long. Not since… not since the battle, a year and a day ago. The creature looked calmly at Bilbo with eyes the exact same shade as the ring in its palm, and Bilbo could only draw one conclusion.

“You- you are my ring?”

“In a way.” The creature closed his hand, opened it again, the ring fell down to dangle from the chain Bilbo had placed it on in Mirkwood. He’d stolen the silver chain from the Elves out of fear of losing the ring during the watery escaped he’d planned. How could it have seemed so important then that he must not lose it, and now it had been a year without him even sparing a thought for it?

“But who I am is not important,” the creature smiled. “What is important is what I can give you. And what I can give is _happiness_.”  
  
Again it snapped its fingers, and at once the sheets beneath Bilbo turned dark and slick. “Because will you ever be happy in a life without your King?” Another snap.

“He- are you saying that he _really_ did die?” Bilbo asked, curling his finger into Thorin’s dark hair and holding on tight enough that the pain of it surely should have roused his husband from even the heaviest of sleeps. But Thorin merely slept on.  
  
“I said as much didn’t I,” the creature shrugged. “But as you can see, he is at the same time not dead. And neither are his sister-sons. So my question to you, Bilbo Baggins; Barrel Rider and Ring Winner, Clue-finder and Spider Stinger, is: do you wish to be happy?”  
  
“Everyone wants to be happy,” Bilbo said cautiously and the creature grinned.  
  
“Of course,” it agreed. “How fortunate it is then that I want to make you happy. I want you to have everything that you wish for.”  
  
Bilbo swallowed. “If Thorin died, is any of this real?” It certainly felt real. He could feel the soft sheet beneath him on the bed, and beside him Thorin was a warm, solid presence.

The creature looked offended. “Of course it is,” it said.  
  
Then it’s expression changed to look slightly sheepish, and for some reason that was almost the most unnerving thing about everything so far.  
  
“Well, I guess I should say that this is something that very easily could _become_ real.” It winked at Bilbo. “Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference. This is a dream,” it  whispered, as if sharing a big secret. “But it could _easily_ become real. You are sleeping, and when you wake up, your Dwarfs can wake up with you. You'll have this again, in no time at all. A year goes by so fast as you know, and I can promise you this year, and many, many more.” The creature tilted its head, and smiled in a manner that was clearly meant to be comforting. “I know you have thought about how long Hobbits live, and how long Dwarfs do, and I _promise_ you that you can have a full life with them. Far longer than the years normally expected of a Hobbit.”  
  
“And what do you want?” Bilbo asked, because he wasn’t stupid. “And don’t say that you just want to make me happy, because I don’t believe that.”  
  
“But I _want_ to make you happy,” the creature said. “You were so sad before…”

Once again it snapped its fingers, and Bilbo gasped for breath as all the half-forgotten visions and dreams he’d had over the past year came flooding back. He remembered now, he remembered everything. Thorin… Thorin _had_ died.

_Bilbo threw himself down next to Thorin, uncaring of how the battle still continued around them._

_“No, no, no, no,” Bilbo moaned in disbelief. His hands touched Thorin’s pale cheeks._

_“No, please wake up. I need you to come back to me.”_   
  
_There was no response, not even when Bilbo slapped Thorin’s face in desperation._

_“Thorin, please. It can't end like this. I didn’t get to say I was sorry. I didn’t get to tell you that I love you.” Bilbo choked on a sob. “You can’t die.”_

Gandalf hadn’t been able to get him to release Thorin until a grim-looking Dwalin and two other Dwarfs had shown up to carry their fallen king and his sister-sons away from the middle of the battle-field.  
  
After the Orcs and Goblins had been defeated there had been a funeral. Bilbo remembered very little from it. But he remembered talking to Dáin afterwards, and he remembered sneaking away to curl up on the stone of Thorin’s tomb, wishing that they had just buried him in it as well. He had toyed with the idea of slipping on the ring and simply remaining on the stone cover. What did it matter. They had buried Thorin with the Arkenstone; the heart of the mountain, and just as surely they had buried also Bilbo’s heart.  
  
The ring had been cool, soothing in his hand as he’d cried until there was no more tears left and-  
  
“I fell asleep, on- on the tomb,” Bilbo said slowly. He’d fallen asleep, clutching the ring in his hand.  
  
“You are sleeping still,” the creature reminded him. “But you’ve not been asleep for long. A day, maybe two. And when you wake up you will be the inspiration of songs and tales for generations to come. How your devotion was enough to breathe life in those thought lost. And you’ll be happy again.”  
  
“There must be something you want in return,” Bilbo said guardedly. “Why else would you talk to me like this, why would you let me have a year of dreaming instead of just bringing them back right away?”  
  
“Ah,” the creature said with a smile that seemed to contain far too many teeth for Bofur’s mouth. “There _is_ something, a small thing, I would ask of you in return. A small favour that will only take a moment of your time.”  
  
“Name it,” Bilbo said, hands carding through Thorin’s hair. His hands didn’t seem to care that this was only a dream, they still insisted that this was his husband. Only, Thorin wasn’t his really his husband... not if this was only a dream.

“This Ring," the creature said, letting it spin in a circle beneath the chain. "Now that your adventuring days are over, it’s not really something you have much use for anymore, is it?” the creature continued, still smiling. “Nor was it really yours to begin with. So what I would ask, is that when the time came, you would simply give it up to its rightful owner.”

Bilbo frowned. “To that pale-“

“No,” the creature snapped, and for a moment its eyes flashed red and black and gold and Bilbo had to look away. “It never really owned the Ring. But never mind that,” it continued, now all smiles again.

“To whom then?” Bilbo prompted.

“Does it matter? You wouldn’t even be asked to give it up right away.”

“I think it matters,” Bilbo said slowly. “If it’s worth bringing three people back from the dead for, then yes, I think it matters. Someone that powerful could surely make themselves invisible by other means.”

“He is the rightful owner of the Ring, its maker. It was lost to him, and he wants it back. That should be good enough for you.” The creature folded Bofur’s arms over his chest. “I would have your answer. Will you give up the Ring when my Master sends for it?”  
  
“I-“  
  
“Bilbo?” Thorin murmured sleepily, wincing when his own voice seemed to grate a little too harshly on his ear. It would seem as if he couldn’t see the creature wearing Bofur’s skin, because he paid it no mind. “Why are you not in bed? You’ll catch a cold and then you’ll be impossible to live with until you have recovered. Come here.”  
  
“What will your answer be,” the creature prompted once again.

“Yes,” Bilbo breathed.  
  
“Good,” Thorin murmured, lifting up the sheet for Bilbo. “Because you really are impossible when you are sick.”  
  
“You will agree to give up the Ring?” the creature asked, leaning forward eagerly.  
  
“I’ll do it.” Instead of climbing back into the bed and fitting himself to Thorin’s side Bilbo bent to press a kiss against his husband’s forehead, then one on each eyelid and  one on his mouth. Thorin grumbled, but didn't really put up a convincing fight considering how he hummed contently when their lips met.  
  
“I swear I will give up the ring when it is sent for.”  
  
“And you swear this on his life?”  
  
Bilbo looked down at Thorin, his King, his husband, his heart.  
  
“I swear.”  
  
“So be it.” And the thing that looked like Bofur smiled, and it's eyes glowed red and gold and terrible.


	2. Long I Stood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter that I didn't mean to write, so if you want a more open ending I suggest not to read it.

In another world things went very differently.  
  
But in this world it was a crisp autumn’s morning when a rider dressed all in black approached the gates of Erebor.  
  
The guards at the gate found the Man’s appearance… worrying, to say the least. The first frost had not yet settled on the ground, and the slight chill of the dawn had long since passed, but you’d not know it from the rider’s clothes. Layers upon layers of black cloth and he even had his hood up; his head hunched, as if expecting a sudden burst of rain or snow any moment.  
  
There was also more than his clothes that set him apart from the travellers that normally arrived at Erebor’s gate, something… something that the guards weren’t too keen on putting words to.  
  
If it remained a mere _feeling_ of unease; something tickling – crawling – at the back of your neck, that was still better than knowing exactly what seemed so wrong about this visitor. Sometimes ignorance truly was bliss.

“Who goes there?” Groft, the senior of the two guards asked, squaring his shoulders and squinting out of the small opening in the gate to try and make out a face hiding beneath the shadows of the hood.  
  
“ _Bilbo Bagginss… expectss me_.”  
  
The words were spoken in Common but there was again something that wasn’t right. Something that in fact might be _very_ wrong.  
  
The guard turned to his companion, meeting her wide frightened eyes, and this in turn frightened him.  
  
Milla did not scare easily, he’d seen her fight Orcs and Wargs and Trolls without flinching, but now… now he could see white all the way around the brown of her eyes, her nostrils flaring as if she was a pony about to bolt.  
  
‘Get word to The King,’ Groft signed. Milla opened her mouth to protest, but a stern look and sharp gesture made her close it again. ‘ _Now_.’  
  
She ran.

-  
  
“And what did he want?”  
  
“He didn’t say and-“ Milla hesitated and bowed her head. “I’m sorry Your Majesty, but we didn’t ask. He- I don’t think he means to bring good tidings to the Consort. I’ve never seen one such as him before.”  
  
Thorin frowned, fingers tapping against the armrests of his throne. “Did he-“  
  
“I need to see him,” Bilbo said, and surprised Thorin turned his head to look at his husband and the moment he laid eyes on him the frown on the King’s face deepened.  
  
He’d seen moonlight with more colour than Bilbo had at the moment, but still his Hobbit tried to smile at him. Even though it was more a grimace than anything else.  
  
“I think I know what this is about,” he said. “Don’t worry. It’ll be fine.”  
  
“Anything else to report?” Thorin demanded of the guard in front of him, and when she shook her head he dismissed her with a gesture. “Leave us.”  
  
He’d already sent away the people who were in the throne room with him and Bilbo when the guard came running, and at the time he’d not been sure exactly why that had seemed like the best decision.  
  
But a look at Bilbo’s much too pale face was enough to convince him that it had been a very good decision indeed.  
  
“I should-“ Bilbo began, but Thorin put his hand over his chest and gently but firmly pressed him back against the backrest of his throne as he tried to get up.  
  
“Bilbo, what is going on?”  
  
Bilbo licked his lips; a quick flick of the tongue. “I- borrowed something. Once. And now I have to give it back.” He swallowed and reached up to cover Thorin’s hand with his own. “I have to. Thorin, I need to see this… messenger. And then everything will be... things will be fine."  
  
“You are afraid,” Thorin said quietly. “Dear heart, you are shaking, and your heart beneath my palm feel as if it is going to burst. Tell me, who is it outside our gates?”  
  
The Hobbit’s head slumped, and his hand fell down to lie limply in his lap before he nervously twined the fingers of both his hands together.  
  
Lifting his hand from Bilbo’s chest Thorin instead cupped the soft curve of Bilbo’s jaw, brushing his thumb along the smooth skin of his cheek.  
  
“The one at the gates is someone from my dreams,” Bilbo murmured, not meeting Thorin’s eyes. “Or, perhaps I should call them nightmares.”  
  
-  
  
The dreams had started the year before, on the night following feast in honour of the Battle of Five Armies. It was the twentieth such celebration held at Erebor. _Only_ the twentieth, which was why Bilbo thought it was just a regular nightmare at first when he woke up with reds and golds and blacks still flashing in front of his eyes.  
  
Before the he had not known that black came in any shades at all, but now he knew all of them. Before the dream he'd been able to tell himself that what he'd experiences after the battle had in truth been the dream, but now he knew better.  
  
He’d had a new dream every month since the first. Nine in total. But only one of them had made him claw his way back to waking gasping and crying.  
  
It had been the dream showing him what would happen if he did not fulfil his promise.  
  
 _Thorin’s eyes staring without seeing, the blue of them lifeless and empty. Blood spreading quickly underneath him; painting stone and snow and earth a bright, terrible red._

 _Three cold tombs of stone._  
  
Because even though he’d only sworn on Thorin’s life it was going to take their boys too. They were part of the original deal, he’d been told. Undo a promise and everything else was undone as well, just like pulling on a loose thread of a knitted shirt.  
  
He had seen other things in his dreams too. Horrible things.  
  
 _A dark tower in the middle of a barren wasteland. A great golden eye on the sky. And nine dark riders on nine dark horses, all different but for the nine rings they wore on their bone-thin, bone-white fingers._  
  
  
 _And One Ring to rule them all._  
  
But these things were still not horrible enough to make him change his mind. If he changed his mind Thorin would die. That was not something Bilbo could live with.  
  
And that was exactly what he told Thorin.  
-

The more Thorin heard the more convinced he became that his beloved husband had gone mad. But madness did not cause black-clad riders to appear and wait at Erebor’s gates. And it was not madness that he found in Bilbo’s eyes, only desperation, fear and grief. And he had been wondering, why Bilbo had avoided Bofur a long time after the battle, why he never wanted to watch the sunrise of sunset paint the sky red and gold, and other little things too that now suddenly made more sense.  
  
“Bilbo, if it is as you say you can't give it up.”  
  
 _The_ Ring. The _One_ Ring. The sheer thought was more than mad. But just because it was mad did not mean it wasn't the truth.

“But I have to,” Bilbo protested. “Or you will die. Fíli and Kíli will die too.” Tears rose in hazel eyes and Bilbo blinked them away. “It said- it said I could have a full life with you. It's just been twenty years. They'll leave us alone.  If I give it my ring it will leave us alone. We’ll have twenty more years, and twenty more besides. Maybe more. It said-”  
  
“If I was supposed to di-“  
  
“No,” Bilbo snapped, and even though the word was so small it still managed to break under the weight of the lie. “You are supposed to _live_.”  
  
Because even if Bilbo did not mean it as a lie, Thorin now knew better.   
  
It had been twenty happy years, twenty years that he’d never expected to have, so the idea that he’d not been meant to have them… it did not really surprise him.  
  
This was to be the price then. Because there was always a price for happiness. It had been described as a miracle, how he and his nephews had been discovered to be alive after all, on the eve after their burial. Poison, that had been accepted as the explanation. Something to slow the heart and breaths and give the appearance of death.  
  
And if it hadn't been for Bilbo's insistence that the tombs be opened it was death that would have awaited them. It was death that should have awaited them.  
  
Fíli' and Kíli's bright grins flashed before his inner eye and the scar sitting high on Thorin's chest twinged.  
  
“Bilbo, if this is really the Enemy returned, and his messenger is now standing right outside our gates-“  
  
“I’ll make it go away!” Bilbo exclaimed. “I can't watch you die. Again. I can't watch you die again. I can't. I’ll die first. Thorin, I _can’t_.”

“And I can’t sacrifice the world to keep drawing breath,” Thorin said quietly, leaning in to press their foreheads together. “Bilbo, it’s not-“  
  
“I _can_ ,” Bilbo said, shying back from Thorin’s touch. His chin held high, bottom lip quivering, and his eyes bright with unshed tears. “A world without you is not a world I’d want.”  
  
Thorin’s heart ached from the look on Bilbo’s face.  
  
“Bilbo, we-“  
  
“No!” And before Thorin could stop him; his fingers touching - but not being able to catch – the sleeve of Bilbo’s shirt, the Hobbit was on his feet and jumping down the dais, scrambling down the stairs and then between one moment and the next he disappeared. Vanished into thin air, but Thorin could still hear the faint sound of bare feet against stone and he knew what had just happened.  
  
-  
  
“Bilbo!”  
  
The sound of Thorin’s voice was fainter than it should be.  
  
It had been a long, long time since Bilbo had used the Ring, and he’d forgotten the bleak, grey world that the wearing the cursed thing made him inhabit. But it was necessary now just like it had been before.  
  
He couldn’t go straight to the main gate. Too many guards, and Thorin would expect him to go there.  
  
That left the battlements.  
  
-  
  
Thorin knew that Bilbo was too clever to try and go directly to the gates. But if he went up to the battlements that would bring him directly over the main gates. And the rider would not have been allowed inside Erebor's walls.

-  
  
The sound of heavy, rapid footsteps behind him let Bilbo know that he wasn’t alone running up the staircase.  
  
It didn’t matter. He’d always been quicker on his feet than Thorin anyway. And if Thorin's life was at stake he would be quicker still.  
  
He had been promised a lifetime.  
  
-

Thorin burst out onto the battlements just in time to see Bilbo raise his arm; first clenched tightly.  
  
“Bilbo, no!”  
  
A single moment’s hesitation.  
  
-  
  
As the ring sailed through the air the light from the sun caught it and flashed gold, gold, gold as it tumbled around itself during its descent.  
  
It made no sound at all as it fell, and no sound when it landed.  
  
But the ground still shook.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still a little open. But... yeah.

**Author's Note:**

> _Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,_   
>  _And sorry I could not travel both_   
>  _And be one traveler, long I stood_   
>  _And looked down one as far as I could_   
>  _To where it bent in the undergrowth;_   
>    
>  _Then took the other, as just as fair,_   
>  _And having perhaps the better claim,_   
>  _Because it was grassy and wanted wear;_   
>  _Though as for that the passing there_   
>  _Had worn them really about the same,_   
>    
>  _And both that morning equally lay_   
>  _In leaves no step had trodden black._   
>  _Oh, I kept the first for another day!_   
>  _Yet knowing how way leads on to way,_   
>  _I doubted if I should ever come back._   
>    
>  _I shall be telling this with a sigh_   
>  _Somewhere ages and ages hence:_   
>  _Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—_   
>  _I took the one less traveled by,_   
>  _And that has made all the difference._
> 
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> \------------------------------------
> 
> WHY DID I WRITE THIS?  
> I DON'T KNOW. I MADE MYSELF SAD. :'(


End file.
